In My Head
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Moriarty has come back from the grave and is insistent on ruining Sherlock's life once and for all. When Sherlock finds himself in an unusual situation, he has to figure out how to fix what Moriarty has done before his whole world comes crashing down around him.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"John, I need you to stay outside."

Sherlock looked at John Watson with such a look of intense determination that John lost the ability to speak for a moment.

"What...why?"

"Just please listen to me John," said Sherlock. "This is something that I must do on my own."

Watson couldn't believe his ears. The blips of emergency personal around him were the only things that kept him teethered to reality. Otherwise he'd be sure he was dreaming. Although, Sherlock insisted on going in alone whenever he thought danger was near, so it wasn't uncommon, but every time he let Sherlock out of his sight, his life was always laid on the line.

"I can't," said Watson. "You'll get cocky. You'll get in danger."

Sherlock smiled a half smile at Watson before clearing his throat and saying, "I'm serious. Stay here."

Sherlock turned to walk off on Watson when he spoke up, "Am I going to have to come to your rescue?"

"I think you know the answer to that one John," said Sherlock, smiling as he walked past the police officers that were milling around.

"Oy Sherlock," called out Lestrade. "I can't let you go in like that. I have to give you a vest."

Sherlock stopped and turned to give Lestrade a look as he approached him with a bullet proof vest. Sherlock put the vest on and Lestrade handed him a gun.

"Just incase," said Lestrade as Sherlock slipped the gun into his coat. "I don't want you getting shot in there."

Sherlock nodded his head in understanding before straightening up and walking toward the doors of the ramshackled warehouse.

As he entered the warehouse, he was immediately greeted by darkness. The whole place was encased in darkness, save for the stream of light that was streaming in from a window nearby.

He looked around him as he walked, making himself aware to even the slightest noise. He reached the end of the main room when he noticed a lone chair sitting there. Thinking that was peculiar, he walked closer to it, gripping the handle of the gun underneath his coat, prepared to use it if necessary.

He stood in front of the chair and examined it. Why was this chair here, empty? He was suppose to be here negotiating a hostage situation.

Unless...

"Hello Sherlock."

That voice. Slowly, Sherlock turned to look at the owner of that familiar voice. It was none other than James Moriarty, living and in the flesh.

"Surprise," he said with a small smile. "I'm not dead. Did you miss me?"

He still kept his hand on the gun handle, not sure if he would need to use it or not.

"Did you miss me?" asked Moriarty again as he walked toward Sherlock, his footsteps echoing off the warehouse floor.

"I missed you as much as would be expected," he said as he studied him.

That caused Moriarty to smile a little bit wider.

"Now that I'm back Sherlock, I won't go away again."

Moriarty slowly starts to circle Sherlock.

"I have come back to ruin you."

"Didn't you try that the first time?" asked Sherlock. "It didn't exactly pan out, remember?"

"Yes, but this time I have a better game plan," said Moriarty as he stood in front of Sherlock.

"Really?" He studies Moriarty.

"Yes really." Moriarty nods to the chair behind Sherlock. "Why don't you have a seat and I will tell you all about it?"

Sherlock took a seat on the chair, but still watched Moriarty like a hawk incase he decided to try anything clever.

"It doesn't matter what you think I can or cannot do to you, Sherlock Holmes. I _will_ ruin you," said Moriarty with a wicked smile on his face.

"Ruin me?" asked Sherlock, a chuckle emnating from him. "You can't ruin me."

Sherlock watched Moriarty, who was pacing back and forth in front of him.

"Pity that you didn't die when I wanted you too," said Moriarty. "I thought your blood would be a wonderful addition to the sidewalk. It needs a renovation."

"Moriarty, I outsmarted you. Just admit it."

"NO!" shouted Moriarty, his shouts echoing off the wall. "No," he said softer as he glared at Sherlock. "I have won. You just don't realize it yet."

Sherlock could feel his cell phone vibrating in his coat pocket. He really wanted to pick it up and answer it, but he knew that he couldn't. Not with Moriarty watching. Watson would be here any second now anyway to see how he was faring. He knew him. Even when he told him to stay out of the line of fire, he always had to jump right in front of it.

Moriarty walked over to Sherlock and placed his hands on each of the arm rests, bending to get right in his face.

"You, Sherlock Holmes, are about to fall in a way that you'd never expect."

"And what way might that be?" he asked as he searched Moriarty's eyes, waiting for an answer.

"It'd be no fun if I told you. It'd ruin everything," responded Moriarty. "You'll see soon enough."

Moriarty backed up momentarily and handed Sherlock a device that looked similar to a cell phone. He took one out of his pocket himself and started to dial a number into it. Soon the cell like device in Sherlock's hand started to ring.

"Pick it up," said Moriarty as he put his to his ear.

"Why?" asked Sherlock as he looked at the device in his hand.

"Do it," said Moriarty with a slight smile on his face. "If you pick it up, your curiousity will be satisfied. You'll know how I'll ruin you."

"SHERLOCK!"

He could hear John's voice far away in the warehouse. Moriarty turned briefly behind his shoulder to look into the darkness, seeing the beams of flashlights flashing about in the darkness feet away. He turned back to look at Sherlock with a smirk playing across his face.

"Pick it up Sherlock," repeated Moriarty.

Hesitating for one more minute, Sherlock placed the device to his ear as he picked it up.

The last thing he remembered was seeing a malicious smile spread across Moriarty's face as an electric charge hit the side of his head, making him lose consciousness.

* * *

When Sherlock came to, he was lying on the cement floor of the warehouse. Had he fallen out of the chair when he had gone unconscious?

Groaning slightly, he pushed himself up into an upright position and looked around the warehouse with blurry eyes. He could see people walking about the area. A group of them were carrying an unconscious figure away; John was trailing behind them, his head hanging down.

"John," he choked out as he shakily rose to his feet and attempted to walk over to him.

John stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look at him with hate burning in his eyes.

Wait. Hate?

John marched up to him and punched him square in the jaw, making him see stars.

"What was that for?" Sherlock groaned, feeling weaker than he already was.

"If Sherlock is dead," said John, glaring at him, practically growling. "I will kill you myself."

"But...but I'm...," he stammered, trying to get rid of this dizzying sensation.

"You're Moriarty," growled John. "And you'll be dead soon."

John immediately turned on his heels and marched after the group of people again.

What was going on?

Sherlock walked over to the two cellular like devices that were both lying on the ground, forgotten in the moment. He bent down to pick one up and started to examine it. What had just happened? Why had he gotten shocked? He could see his face in the warped reflection of the screen and immediately gasped.

John was right.

He was Moriarty.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

This was a dream. This _had_ to be a dream.

There was absolutely no way on this earth that he was sitting in the back of Lestrade's police car in handcuffs. There was absolutely no way on this earth that he could look out the window of the car toward the nearby ambulance and see himself sitting in the back with a shock blanket on.

Seeing himself...well, it wasn't really himself; it was Moriarty in his body, but it was weird for him to see all the same.

Lestrade soon got into the police car, sitting behind the steering wheel. Sherlock peered at him through the bullet proof glass that separated them and cleared his throat, trying to get his attention. Lestrade looked up at him in the rear view mirror with a glare.

"Stay quiet back there."

Sherlock wondered whether he should try to convince Lestrade of the truth. But would that really help at all? Sherlock doubted that Lestrade would believe him. What he needed to do was talk to John.

Lestrade shifted the car into drive and started to drive away from the crime scene. Sherlock looked out the window toward the ambulance as they drove past, seeing John standing by Moriarty in his body. His body. Sherlock clenched his hands into fists.

"Am I allowed a phone call once I get to the yard?"

Lestrade looked up at him curiously in the rear view mirror. That must not be something that Moriarty usually does when he was arrested.

"You're allowed a phone call, but you never want to use it. Who are you going to call?"

"Does it really matter?"

"You almost killed Sherlock. Yes, it matters."

"I'm phoning a friend."

"Elaborate."

"No."

Lestrade looked up at him in the rear view mirror again, studying him.

"Then you don't get a phone call."

"You're impossible, Gavin."

He sighed and sunk back against the seat.

"What did you just call me?" asked Lestrade, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged.

"Did you just call me Gavin?"

Sherlock met Lestrade's gaze in the rear view mirror.

"I probably did. Does it really matter what name I called you? You'll still be the same person regardless."

Lestrade pulled to a stop in front of a stop light and momentarily swiveled around in his seat to face him.

"You're acting weird, James. Stop it."

Sherlock met Lestrade's gaze again.

"I'm acting quite normally. It's you who is acting weird."

"How am I acting weird?"

"You're unusually chatty."

Lestrade snorted at that.

"How would you know what's usual for me?"

"Well, for a man that obviously hasn't been sleeping much in the last couple days, it's just a surprise."

"How did you -"

"Your eyes are red, you have bags under your eyes, and by the looks of it, you've already gone through three cups of coffee and it's only noon," replied Sherlock as he nodded at the littered dash up front.

"Stop it. "

Lestrade turned back around as the light turned green and started to drive once more.

Sherlock sighed and leaned against the seat again. Lestrade found himself looking at the man in his backseat once more.

"What were you trying to do to Sherlock back there?"

Sherlock pondered how to answer Lestrade's question, finally coming up with an answer that he thought would be suitable.

"Nothing."

There. It was short and blunt.

"Nothing? We found him passed out. You must have done something."

"_I_ did nothing."

Now that was the truth. He had done nothing. He had been the victim.

Lestrade snorted.

"I'm just going to quit talking to you now."

"You say that now, but you are also the one at the beginning of the ride who told me to stay quiet. You have already contradicted yourself once; there is a high chance that you'll do so again."

"Why on earth would I contradict myself?"

"See? You just contradicted yourself again. It's because you're bored."

"I am not!"

"You are too. The facts are there, Geoff."

"It's _Greg_!"

"Whatever."

Sherlock slouched back against the seat, staring out the window at London as it passed him by.

Lestrade went silent, partly because he was thinking and partly because he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Sherlock let out a small huff in the back seat, bored of the silence lingering in the air. Lestrade's eyes flicked back up to him in the rearview mirror.

"You're acting differently," he finally stated at long last.

He merely shrugged. If Lestrade was too stupid enough to come to the right conclusion himself, why should he bother telling him the truth. Besides, even if he did tell him the truth, it was very unlikely that he would actually believe him. Who would?

"What really happened back there?"

He met Lestrade's gaze, holding it for a moment.

"That's for you to find out, dear inspector."

Lestrade stared back at him for a second before pulling into the Yard, parking his car. He got out, grabbing his wrists and dragging him inside. Before Sherlock was led into the area where all the cells were, he was placed in a seat by a phone. He looked up at Lestrade, confused as he un-handcuffed him.

"One phone call," said Lestrade, his gaze looking around the place, but not at him. "Make it quick."

A small smile appeared on Sherlock's face. He gave Lestrade a brief nod.

"Thank you. I shall make it quick."

He picked up the phone and immediately dialed Mycroft's number. In any other situation, he would have called John, but he needed his brother on his side in order to be free of this place and get near Moriarty again. The phone rang for a couple of minutes before there was a click.

"Mycroft Holmes speaking."

"I need to see you."

Mycroft immediately recognized the voice. Silence followed for a moment.

"Why would you need to see me, James? Planning on blowing up a government building or something and feel like giving me a clue?"

"No, not like that. It's about Sherlock."

It was best to talk about himself in the third person. At least for now. That way, he could convince his brother in person. Convincing him over the phone would never work. He had to convince him to come to him. Luckily, he knew just which buttons to press to make him do so.

"What about Sherlock?"

Mycroft's voice had taken on a much more deadly tone. Sherlock smirked. Perfect. His plan was working.

"I won't tell you over the phone. You know how these phones at the Yard aren't a secure line. Wouldn't want my plan to be compromised now."

Silence lingered between them again for a moment.

"I shall send a representative-"

"No, I want you to come. If you don't come, I can't promise Sherlock's safety."

"Fine. I shall meet you for ten minutes, but only ten minutes."

"Ten minutes is all I need."

The click sounded again, signifying Mycroft had ended the call. Lestrade yanked his arms behind his back again, re-handcuffing him.

"Who did you call?" asked Lestrade as he led Sherlock toward his cell.

This time, he decided to answer Lestrade, even if his answer was cryptic.

"My only hope." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

This was torture.

He started to swing his legs back and forth as he sat on the cot in his cell. He was bored out of his mind.

"How did prisoners take this?" He thought as he laid on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

Everything that surrounded him was gray and boring. The bricks were gray, the ceiling was gray. Gray, gray, gray everywhere.

"No wonder prisoners are so mental," said Sherlock out loud to himself as he stood up once more, pacing the small amount of floor space in his cell.

Suddenly, the locks in the door clicked, and Lestrade stood there, staring at him.

"Come with me, Moriarty."

He roughly grabbed him by the arm, leading him down the hallway.

"I can see you've discovered who I used my one call on."

"That I have," said Lestrade as he continued leading him down the hallway.

"You don't approve?"

"What's your game? What are you hoping to accomplish while you're behind bars?"

"I'm merely trying to clear myself."

"Clear yourself?" He chuckled. "There is no way on this earth that you'll be able to clear yourself of all of the charges you have stacked against you."

"We'll just have to see about that."

Lestrade didn't say anything, merely leading Sherlock into one of the interrogation rooms and making him take a seat.

"I'll be watching," he stated, nodding his head toward the security cameras in the corner.

"Of course. I have nothing to hide," he replied, looking at Lestrade.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, and left the room. Sherlock brought his cuffed hands in front of him, and looked at how callused Moriarty's hands were, when he heard the door click open.

"You have ten minutes."

His heart picked up speed a bit as he turned in his seat to face his brother, Mycroft.

"You came."

"Of course. I said I would."

Mycroft walked in, watching him with hardened eyes. He took a seat across from Sherlock, looking right at him.

"You're wasting your time, James. You'd better start talking."

"You really care about Sherlock, don't you?"

"Of course. He's my brother." Mycroft looked straight on at him. "What have you done to him?"

"I haven't done anything to him, but I can say that he does require your assistance."

Mycroft clenched his jaw, anger coming into his eyes.

"Where is he? What have you done to him?"

"He's fine, for now, but he won't be for much longer."

"Where. Is. He?" asked Mycroft in a slow and measured voice.

He looked at him dead on; his heart pounding faster in his chest.

"Can't you tell where he is?"

Mycroft studied him closely.

"Stop being cryptic."

"I merely need you to solve this on your own."

He continued to study Sherlock. Sherlock sat there, his hands starting to pool up with sweat. He had to get Mycroft to see the truth without outright admitting it. That would be the only way that he would even remotely believe this unbelievable truth.

"You act like the answer is staring me straight in the face."

"Maybe it is."

He allowed his eyes to soften slightly, to show his brother everything he was feeling at the moment; his fear, his anxiety, his hopelessness.

He shook his head, looking away and up at one of the cameras in the room.

"Will you tell me where he is if I have these cameras shut off?"

He shook his head. He couldn't. Even if those cameras were darkened, he still couldn't admit the truth. His brother had to come to the conclusion himself.

"I can't."

"Why can't you?"

Mycroft turned back to face him.

"You only have two minutes left. Not much time to convince me."

"Mycroft..." His sentence trailed off. He couldn't form a sentence now without the desperation and fear making his voice wobble.

"Are you nervous?" asked Mycroft, shock passing across his face.

Instead of replying, he nodded his head a little. He was nervous. He couldn't keep his guard up anymore.

"Why are you nervous?"

He shrugged, his hands shaking slightly. He had to clamp them to keep himself steady.

Mycroft continued to study him.

"Play deductions, Mycroft," he said silently, bowing his head and looking down at his reflection on the table.

"Play deductions?"

He nodded, his head still bent down.

Mycroft stood up and started to pace, looking at Moriarty.

"One minute..." he said softer, studying him.

He started to bounce his leg up and down, trying to remain calm.

"Your leg is bouncing, you're clasping your hands together, you've already admitted that you're nervous..."

Mycroft paused in his walk, standing a foot or two away from Sherlock.

"But why could you be nervous? That's the real question at hand. You're never nervous."

"People change."

He crouched, looking at him, reaching out a hand so that Sherlock had to look into his eyes once more. Sherlock could feel himself tremble a bit more at Mycroft's touch, gulping to swallow the tears that threatened to leap into his eyes.

"You're scared..."

He cast his gaze off to the side, blinking to keep the tears in.

Mycroft reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder as he asked in a soft whisper, "Sherlock?"

At that, Sherlock couldn't hold it in anymore. He leaned into his brother, sobbing silently into his shoulder, his handcuffed hands in front of him.

Mycroft was startled by this, but soon wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back gently.

"Sh...it's alright."

He just nodded his head, still leaning against him, trembling.

"What happened?"

"I...I don't know...he tricked me..."

"Okay, settle down a bit. Take a deep breath." He pulled back from him a bit, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with his thumbs. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"He had me seated in a chair and gave me this thing that I thought was a mobile. I...I placed it to my ear and the next thing I knew..." He trailed off, figuring that Mycroft would be able to fill in the blanks.

Mycroft just nodded his head, looking at him.

"So...you believe me?" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat to try to get rid of the hoarseness.

"As crazy as this does sound, and it does sound mighty crazy, yes. I believe you."

"Oh thank goodness."

He sighed with relief, looking at Mycroft with red rimmed eyes.

He gave him a slight smile, standing up.

"You're coming with me, alright? I'll get Lestrade to release you."

"How though? He'll think you're batty for letting me go."

"He doesn't know then?"

He shook his head.

"No, not yet."

He bit his lip, trying to think of a plan. He grabbed his arm, pulling you up to stand in front of him.

"Then just follow my lead, understand?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Thank you, brother."

He smiled at that, nodding.

"Of course. I've got your back."

He smiled, feeling happy that at least his brother believed him.

"Now bend your head down, and pretend to be guilty."

He nodded, doing exactly what Mycroft wanted him to do.

Mycroft opened the door of the interrogation room, and led him down the hallway. Suddenly, Lestrade appeared out from behind one of the doors.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Lestrade, stopping them.

"He won't talk. I need to try a different method," said Mycroft. "I need you to release him into my custody."

He jerked his thumb behind his shoulder at the monitors which displayed the interrogation room they had just been in.

"I watched what happened. Of course I couldn't hear anything..."

"You must trust me, detective inspector," replied Mycroft.

Lestrade looked at Mycroft, before finally nodding.

"Fine. You may take him, but if he tries anything..."

"Yes, if he tries anything you may swoop in," responded Mycroft, finishing Lestrade's sentence. "He won't though. I'll be with him."

Lestrade nodded, going to undo his handcuffs. Once Sherlock was free, he sighed with relief, rubbing his wrists one at a time. He was extremely grateful.

Mycroft led him outside and helped him into the back of his vehicle. Once they were in motion, Sherlock gave Mycroft another grateful grin.

"Thank you."

He smiled, nodding.

"So, what are we going to do now?"

"Well," said Mycroft. "I can assume that if you're in Moriarty's body, that he is in yours, correct?"

He nodded.

"And I'm the only one who believes you?"

He nodded again.

"John doesn't?"

"I thought I should convince you first. I thought that you would be able to help me figure this situation out."

"Well, I'm flattered," he said, digging out his mobile. "And I may just have a plan to get John on our side."

"How?" asked Sherlock.

"Just wait and see," he replied with a grin.

* * *

**AN**: **Please feel free to leave reviews. I love getting feedback. :)**


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